Author:
Pairing: Duncan/Logan.
Setting: Post-"Leave it to Beaver."
Rating: PG13.
Logan smashes an empty bottle of whisky against the cold ceramic tiles in the Echolls' mansion. He thought about going to stay at the Camelot, but then had a few more drinks. Everything seemed a little less sharp from the view of the bottom of a bottle.
The cellphone on his hip rings and rings. And he's not sure how he made it home. He remembers being on the bridge, drinking, and Weevil and his little 'gang' showing up. The home message machine lies in shambles on the floor after the hundredth call from everyone that ever had their phone number, wondering just how the famous Aaron Echolls was handling the 'accusation.'
No one asks how Logan feels about his father fucking, and then killing his girlfriend, and then trying to kill his new girlfriend.
He turns his head toward the patio as he hears the door open. "Don't let Fido bit your ass," he slurs.
"You don't have dog, Logan." The patio door closes.
"Duncan, Duncan, they all thought you did it. Thought I did it too," Logan raves, swinging his new and unopened tequila, straight from Mexico. "Stupid bitch. Both of them. Who needs women." He stumbles toward Duncan, his feet barely missing the glass on the floor.
Duncan places his arm around his best friend, holding him up.
"No one. Not us. That's who doesn't need their kisses or breasts." Logan leans his head on Duncan's shoulder. "Lilly had nice breasts. Firm. They fit in your hand." His hand travels down Duncan's stomach.
"C'mon Logan," Duncan attempts to lead Logan toward the stairwell, "let's get you into bed."
"So charming, Duncan. Is this how you woo all the ladies?"
Duncan shook his head as Logan's feet tripped on the second and third steps. "Only you, Logan. Only you."